Smile poems
/ page 155 of 369 /
By Any Other Name
© James Whitcomb Riley
First the teacher called the roll,
Clos't to the beginnin',
Italy : 15. Luigi
© Samuel Rogers
Happy is he who loves companionship,
And lights on thee, Luigi. Thee I found,
Playing at Mora on the cabin-roof
With Punchinello. -- 'Tis a game to strike
The Duellist - Book II
© Charles Churchill
Deep in the bosom of a wood,
Out of the road, a Temple stood:
To the People Of the Future
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
This single link was else respected
By people of the days that gone
On Hearing The Princess Royal Sing
© Victor Marie Hugo
In thine abode so high
Where yet one scarce can breathe,
Dear child, most tenderly
A soft song thou dost wreathe.
An Epistle To Dr. Moore
© Helen Maria Williams
Whether dispensing hope, and ease
To the pale victim of disease,
Or in the social crowd you sit,
And charm the group with sense and wit,
Moore's partial ear will not disdain
Attention to my artless strain.
An Appearance
© Sylvia Plath
The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.
The Martyrdom Of St. Christina, By Vincenzo Catena, In The Church Of Santa Maria Mater Domini, At Ve
© Richard Monckton Milnes
ST. CHRISTINA.
(KNEELING.)
I knew, I knew, it would be so,
That, in this long--expected hour,
The Glory of the Day Was In Her Face
© James Weldon Johnson
The glory of the day was in her face,
The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.
The Princess (part 5)
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
Night Song Of A Wandering Shepherd In Asia
© Giacomo Leopardi
What doest thou in heaven, O moon?
Say, silent moon, what doest thou?
Not probableThe barest Chance
© Emily Dickinson
Not probableThe barest Chance
A smile too fewa word too much
And far from Heaven as the Rest
The Soul so close on Paradise
Allegra
© James Russell Lowell
I would more natures were like thine,
That never casts a glance before,
Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
So lavishly to all dost pour,
That we who drink forget to pine,
And can but dream of bliss in store.
The Lost Galleon
© Francis Bret Harte
In sixteen hundred and forty-one,
The regular yearly galleon,
Laden with odorous gums and spice,
India cottons and India rice,
And the richest silks of far Cathay,
Was due at Acapulco Bay.
Mr. Hosea Biglow To The Editor Of The Atlantic Monthly
© James Russell Lowell
DEAR SIR,--Your letter come to han'
Requestin' me to please be funny;
An Aurora Borealis
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
O STRANGE soft gleam, o ghostly dawn
That never brightens unto day;
Ere earth's mirk pale once more be drawn
Let us look out beyond the gray.
To A Young Lady, With A Poem On The French Revolution
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters, pale,
I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale!
